


Let The Universe Go Red

by Purplesauris



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bounty Hunter Din Djarin, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din is Mand'alor, Din is a good father, M/M, Some angst, Yes I gave him a replacement Razor Crest, episode 16 spoilers, have I seen anything outside of the Mandalorian?, how do you deal with a broken creed, i think, no, no beta we die like warriors, no i wont be taking constructive critism, post episode 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplesauris/pseuds/Purplesauris
Summary: Din doesn't know what to do without his son and a broken creed- how does he pick up the pieces scattered among the stars?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 41
Kudos: 516





	Let The Universe Go Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frostedangst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedangst/gifts).



> listen i inhaled both seasons of the Mandalorian and fell in love with Din Djarin and Grogu and yall are just gonna have to enjoy.

He’d broken his Creed. He’d told himself, reminded himself that he’d done it for a far less selfish reason than his brain supplied. That he’d done it for his _ad’ika_ , to save him. He would do it again a thousand times over, no matter how the outcome remained the same. 

The recycled air on his face felt as much a betrayal as the influx of light that blinded his sensitive eyes. But the small clawed hand that smoothed over his cheek, touching with the same gentle insistence as he did when he wanted dinner or a snack or just to be held, that didn’t. It felt like a homecoming, like a part of his soul was finally settling after drifting aimlessly for far too long among the stars. Grogu stares up at him, dark, bottomless eyes wide and enraptured by the way that Din’s brows twitch, lips twisting as nerves strangle his heart.

“It’s okay, kid. You can go with him. He’s your kind.” A large, soft ear brushes against his chin as Grogu tucks his head against the fabric of his bodysuit, right above where his chest piece begins. Din lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and tucking his nose against the top of Grogu’s little green head, hugging him a bit closer. The back of his neck crawls, jitters making his fingers twitch as he straightens up again, aware that every moment he spends with his helmet off is another he can never reclaim. “This isn’t goodbye, I’ll see you again, okay?”

Grogu coos sadly, ears drooping, and Din runs a finger along the bottom edge, trying to smile and unsure of whether he succeeds. He glances up toward the Jedi- Luke, he’d supplied, and finds his head turned away, gaze respectfully pinned on the distant stars through the windows of the bridge. His head tilts, birdlike, toward his stoic form, and Din watches the way that the corner of Luke's mouth quirks up in a smile, easy as breathing. 

“Of course.” Luke’s voice surprises him- strong and unwavering, refined in a way that makes him feel rough around the edges. It takes a second for Din to realize that he isn’t being spoken to, and that Grogu has turned in his arms to regard Luke with open, childlike curiosity. The kid gurgles quietly, tilting his head much like Din and giggling all of a sudden. Luke’s smile grows, and he turns then, eyes downcast as he walks over and holds his hands out. “I’ll hold him a moment. Your helmet, Mandalorian?”

Din hands Grogu over with jerky movements, unsure, but Grogu grabs onto the folds of Luke’s dark cloak, settling down and getting comfortable. Din stoops, scooping his helmet off of the floor and hesitating once again. It’s- not allowed. For him to put it back on, to pretend, but Luke waits patiently, gaze averted so as not to look. The crawling on the back of his neck overpowers the logical part of his mind, and he slips on the helmet, sighing as the lock snaps into place, sealing around his jaw and equalizing the pressure inside. Din feels like he can finally see again, vision tinted by the visor, and he drags in a breath. The modulator in his helmet distorts his voice, making it rougher, but it’s a comfort to hear the feedback from his own voice rather than the echoing silence of the bridge. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. Walk with me a moment?” Luke finally looks up, blue eyes curious, and Din stands under his scrutiny as he looks over the contours of the helmet. Each look is a brand on his skin, knowing that whatever Luke is looking for he’ll find. Din dips his head toward the door, motioning, and Luke turns in a swish of fabric, hopping easily over the discarded pieces of the dark-troopers that his saber had cut through like butter. Din skirts around them, kicking a few pieces out of his way, and stares helplessly as Grogu peeks over Luke’s shoulder, giggling happily at the way that Luke boosts him a bit higher. His little hand waves, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily, and Din feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. 

“You’ll protect him?” Din asks, not expecting the way that Luke stops and turns to him, blue eyes steely as he holds his hand out. Din reaches out automatically and Luke grips his forearm tight, pulling him a bit closer, Din biting down on the rising panic to shove away, to put distance between him and Luke. 

“He’s my student now, Mandalorian. My life without him is forfeit.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” He replies, uncomfortable with the thought, but Luke only laughs, as if seeing the way that Din’s thoughts mirror that sentiment so close. 

“He’ll be safe under my care, Mandalorian. That I can promise.” Luke nods his head, releasing Din’s arm and dropping his hand. They continue their trek back to the hanger, where an old, battered x-wing idles, an R2 unit poking out of the top. Its head piece swivels toward them on approach, whistling merrily at the sight of Luke coming back. Luke pauses by his ship, turning and considering Din for a moment as Grogu balances on his shoulder, a tiny hand gripping a handful of Luke’s sandy blonde hair tight. Luke doesn’t seem at all concerned, and doesn’t wince even when Grogu stretches to touch the side of the ship, pulling on his hair. “Have you said your last goodbyes?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Din stands, awkward under Luke’s observant gaze, and Luke sighs softly. He waits a moment more, as if expecting Din to speak before hoisting himself up onto the wing of his ship before slipping into the open cockpit. Grogu holds on tight as Luke climbs, and he disappears from view momentarily as Luke pulls him down off his shoulder and into his lap. Grogu pops back up once the cockpit has lowered, sealing them in, and Din raises a hand, waving weakly as Grogu wags his little arms in goodbye. Heat burns at the back of his eyes as the ship maneuvers back and out of the airlock, momentarily drifting unanchored before the ship turns with a deft movement and zips off, disappearing rapidly into the inky black of the sky. 

The others find him there, standing so close to the airlock that one stray movement would send him plunging into the cold crushing abyss of space. He doesn’t move when they approach him, though his fingers twitch toward the holster of his blaster on pure instinct alone. 

“Hey, Boba’s on his way. Once he gets back we can take off, get back to Nevarro.” Din doesn’t reply, and his head jerks toward Cara when she places a hand on his upper arm. “The kid’ll be fine, Mando.”

“I know.” He looks back toward the airlock, ignoring the heavy sigh that Cara lets out. He knows that Grogu will be fine- that was his quest, after all, to deliver him to his kind, but the signet on his arm, the vicious, graceful curve of a mudhorn seems like an empty promise now. He’s a clan of one again, with his kid gone, and he doesn’t know what to think about that. What he’s supposed to _do_ , now that he has no home, no clan, only a broken creed left for him to cling to. He’s nearly knocked over when Boba comes sailing into the airlock, the waves from his engines buffeting Din in forceful waves that push him further away from the air lock, displacing him. 

Cara and Fennec stand off to the side, well away from the landing area, and only move closer when the door to the ship drops, allowing them access. Din is the first one in, stalking up the small ramp and climbing with smooth, determined movements up and into the cockpit where Boba lays, strapped into his chair. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Din swings himself up into the adjacent chair, laying back and strapping himself in. The last thing he wants is to be down below, with others who will drag words out of him he doesn’t want to say. Boba though, is silent as he slips back out of the hangar bay, calling out a warning for the ladies to settle before he tips, taking off like a shot. Din watches the stars shoot by the glass of the cockpit, hands itching to take the yoke from Boba and make them go faster, further and further away from the cruiser and Bo Katan and the memory of holding his child for an instant before losing him again. 

“Where’s the kid?” Boba’s voice is low, melodic compared to his, and still it takes him off guard whenever he chooses to speak. 

“I didn’t come up here to talk.”

“Too bad, _Mand’alor_.” Din jerks in his chair, the restraints digging the plates of his armor mercilessly back into him. 

“Do _not_ call me that. I’m not-”

“You carry the darksaber.” Boba points out, head turning toward him, and Din’s hand reaches to pull the handle of the saber from his belt, staring. He’d tried to hand it over to Bo Katan, didn’t want the responsibility, but she’d refused. He’d have to be defeated in battle in order for her to take it, to truly rule, and she hadn’t seemed inclined to try while they were stuck in the bridge of a ship she found useful. Maybe she had less of a death wish than he’d first been led to believe. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I told you I didn’t come here to talk.” Boba hums next to him, unconvinced, but Din sits resolutely beside him, turning the darksaber over and over in his hands, memorizing the pattern etched in the dark hilt. The longer he stares, the more he finds that he _does_ want to talk. “A _Jetii_ showed up. I let him take the kid.”

“Which _Jetii_?”

“He said his name was Luke.” Din catches the way that Boba’s hands tighten around the yoke, the ship jerking forward a bit with the extra pressure, and he lets out a sharp breath, relaxing. “You know him?”

“Might have captured him a time or two.” That draws a startled laugh out of Din, and he can practically hear Boba grinning behind his helmet. Din finds himself smiling back, but it falls quickly, fading as he looks over his shoulder for Grogu, remembering that this isn’t his ship, and that he’s gone. Din turns back, hoping that Boba didn’t notice, and presses back into his seat as they slide into hyperspace, headed for Nevarro. Boba reaches up, clicking on the autopilot, then unbuckles himself, turning his chair to face Din fully now. Din unbuckles, mirroring him, though he can’t quite meet his gaze.

“I broke the Creed.” Boba crosses his arms over his chest, bobbing his head in a gesture that tells Din to go on. He feels like he’s choking, the smooth fabric of his bodysuit pulling in tighter and tighter, and he gasps in a breath before he finds the words to speak. “I took my helmet off.”

“Who saw?” The bounty hunter in front of him is a quiet, deadly force, and Din can feel the simmering rage that so mirrors his own. But while Boba’s is noble, turned toward whoever saw, Din’s turns inward, toward himself. Toward the weakness that had him break his creed not once, but twice. For his inability to let go, to leave that day that he’d dropped the kid off with the Imperials. 

“The kid. A few Imperial soldiers.”

“Are they dead?” Din nods, and Boba relaxes a bit. “That leaves your _ad’ika._ Did you claim him as your own?” Din looks up then, helmet raising, and his eyes close despite knowing that Boba can’t truly see him. _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu_. He’d said it so long ago, when the signet on his armor was still fresh and gleaming, and hadn’t looked back since. He’d been tasked with a quest by his Armorer, one he couldn’t ignore, but this had been- different. Grogu had brought a light and a purpose to his life that he hadn’t had since he was a child, since he’d sworn the creed and let the helmet seal around his jaw, hiding his face away. 

“Yes.” Boba doesn’t say anything else, but when Din opens his eyes Boba is still watching him, as if the answer lies in front of him. 

-*-

Nevarro is just as Din had left it- the lava flats still bubbled and shivered with heat, and dust crusted every inch of anything that wasn’t uncovered. The town was better, happier, the air less oppressive now that the Imperials had been driven off and Karga had taken over to straighten the city out. Cara seems relieved to be back on solid, familiar ground, and she heads off to find out what’s been going on, leaving Din to wander the market by himself. He watches the crowd for sneaking hands or hidden weapons, but nothing serious has happened on Nevarro in months, and Din isn’t quite sure what to do when faced with a crowd who doesn’t want to kill him or steal bounties right out from under him. 

He’s beginning to get used to people finding him in places, because he doesn't jump when a hand claps across his back in a friendly pat, merely turning and tilting his head at the sight of Greef’s graying beard. “Karga.”

“Mando, good to see you again. Here to reconsider the guild?”

“If I am?” Karga grins at him then, squeezing his shoulder and ushering him through the crowd and away from the main bulk of the town. 

“I’ve got a job lined up, if you’re inclined to take it.” 

“Reward?”

“Something you’ll like.” It’s willfully vague and Din doesn’t like it at all. Karga seems to know because he sighs, exasperated, and pulls him along when Din begins to lag behind. “Let me show you the reward before you complain.”

“Is it beskar?”

“No, but something valuable.” Din follows along after a moment to consider, and Karga leads him out to the docks, weaving among the ships to a spot at the back of the yard. All of the ships have crews milling around them except for one, and Din stops short at the sight of it. “I figured you’d need a ship, after what Cara said happened to the last one.” 

“I-” He has to be seeing things‐ before him is the _Razor Crest_ , metal hull gleaming faintly in the gray light of Nevarro's suns. Karga extends a hand, a small piece of metal in his palm, and when Din takes it he can tell it's the chip to the steering grid, which leaves the ship unable to be flown when taken. How in the hell he found another _Razor Crest_ is beyond Din- he didn't think there _were_ anymore.

"You won't get anything else for the first job, but I figure this is a start." Din looks over at Karga, unable to say a word, but Karga only inclines his head toward the ship. "Get settled. I'll bring the puck along later."

"Right." Karga leaves him with the ship, and Din stares, dread and excitement swirling in his gut in a deeply unpleasant mixture of emotions. He bounds up the ramp in two long strides, having waited long enough, and ducks inside, letting the bay door close behind him with a smooth hiss. The lights don't turn on yet, won't until Din gets up into the cockpit and registers his signature into the computer, but Din can navigate the ship in the dark even without his helmet. 

Or so he thinks. 

The ladder to the cockpit is about three inches too far to the left and his helmet clangs uncomfortably against a pipe hanging just low enough to catch him in the forehead and make his ears ring on impact. He swears colorfully, hauling himself up into the cockpit and dropping down into the pilot’s seat. At least here he can see with the light coming in through the viewport. His eyes are drawn across the control panel immediately, mapping the buttons and finding the slot that the steering chip slips into, plugging it in with a faint click and watching as the computer boots up under his hands. Logging himself as the sole owner and user is easy enough, synced to the machinery at his wrist, and the ship comes to life under his hands with little coaxing. A giddy kind of excitement lodges itself in his chest, and he can’t help the stupid little giggle he lets out when he flips a couple of switches, the engines roaring to life on either side of him. 

He doesn’t mean to, but Karga didn’t tell him _not_ to, and he’s taking off, inching the ship up into the air without a backwards glance. The yoke is more sensitive than he’s used to, and his ascent is a bit jerky before the muscles in his forearms can adjust, but he levels out, laughing again and taking off like a shot. 

He rockets through the atmosphere faster than he should, but the computer adjusts for him and his heart pounds in his ears, a staccato symphony. He feels like a teen again, having just gotten his first chance to fly solo, and he can feel the g’s dragging at him as he whirls in exaggerated loops and spins, testing out the responsiveness of the ship and finding it both familiar and better than ever. The ship is lighter, not so heavy with all of Din’s extras like the carbonite bay or his supplies, but that’ll change eventually. For now Din shoots through the stars, riding toward nowhere and only turning around when a comm clicks, Karga’s voice echoing in the cockpit. 

“Having fun up there? I’ve got the puck and some basic supplies, when you feel like landing.” 

“Thank you.” Din breathes, voice cloaked in awe, and he hears Karga laugh over the comms before he disconnects. Din’s landing is much smoother than his takeoff, and Karga is waiting for him when the bay door drops open and Din steps out, grinning like a fool behind the mask of his helmet. The eager anticipation of having a ship, of flying by himself is tangible, and Karga helps haul the supplies on board, ducking underneath the pipe and snorting to cut off a laugh when Din hits his head. Again. 

Din huffs angrily, the sound warping into an odd metallic growl, and he stalks off to find tools, coming back and using a bit of strong wire and will power to hoist the pipe back up into the ceiling where it belongs. Once that’s done he surveys what Karga has brought him, holding his hand out for the puck and tracker. “Alive, as usual.”

“Might be a bit bruised. No carbonite bay.”

“Bruised is alive.” Karga agrees, slipping around the boxes of supplies to observe Din’s quick fix. It’ll keep him from hitting his head, at least. “Spend the night on the ship before you take off. I’ll have the lads refuel you for the trip.”

“Thought I wasn’t getting anything outside of the ship.”

“You have a tab.” Din chuckles softly, bobbing his head in a nod, and Karga smiles at him smugly. “When you’re done with this job, I’ve got more for you. As few or as many as you want.”

“Thanks.” He means it this time, truly, and Karga leaves him to settle in for the night. Once the bay seals shut, trapping him in the low light of the fluorescents Din allows his shoulders to slump. This ship is the same but wildly different, and Din needs time to adjust. The refresher and sleepbay on this one are bigger, wider, and there’s actually room for what looks like a small shower that collapses into the wall. He has less storage, but he’s going to rip out half of it for the carbonite bay as soon as he can afford it, so he isn’t worried as he packs away the filtered water and rations that karga supplied him with. 

Once, and only once he’s gotten everything into place does he reach for the clasps of his armor, letting the segments fall away from him. He tucks the armor neatly into a cubby underneath his cot, hidden from view of anyone who might snoop, and his blaster is left on the shelf running the length of the wall in the bay. Din sits on the end of the cot, breathing slowly to calm himself and ease the odd, barren feeling that crawls over his skin. This is his home, and will be for the foreseeable future, so the longer he sits there, just breathing, the easier it gets to relax. Until it’s habit more than anything to reach up and release the seal of his helmet, slipping it up and over his head. He doesn’t open his eyes just yet, letting his other senses adjust, and when he does he has to blink rapidly, waiting for his vision to dim. 

Taking off the helmet had always been a debate- how long was too long before it was considered against the Creed? How long could he chew on a ration bar, or trim his beard, or stand in the shower before the shame of what he was doing caught up to him? Staring down at the dull grey reflection of his helmet now though, it isn’t shame that trickles through him. It’s bitter, twisting sadness brought on by the echo of a small hand on his cheek. Of eyes crawling over his face in an enemy base while the rest of them were completely unaware of what they were seeing. Din’s grip tightens on the helmet, the hard edges digging into his fingers, and he hurls it as hard as he can against the wall with a shout, hands shaking and the metallic clang reverberating through the empty space of the living bay. 

“ _Fuck. FUCK.”_ Din leaves the helmet on the floor, collapsing back onto the cot and burying his face in his hands. Here, in the solitude of his new ship, Din allows himself to cry, dragging fingers through his hair and not caring at the way it stands on end. Grogu’s absence echoes through the ship louder than any noise Din could possibly make, and the walls feel oppressively small around him, trapping him in a world of his own making. He feels rubbed raw, foolish and weak at the way he misses him, but it isn’t a weakness, not truly. The Foundlings were important, vitally so to Mandalorians, and Din had taken Grogu as his own, his clan of two. Din allows himself to cry until his eyes and throat are raw, and only then does he slink to the refresher, taking a quick, cold shower before tucking himself into bed. 

-*-

Din is up and in armor by the time the workers come to fuel his ship, and he’s out of the port minutes later. He goes through his bounties on autopilot, falling into a routine as familiar as breathing. The work keeps him blissfully busy, and the less he’s on land, the less time he spends stopping to think the easier it gets to ignore the panicked, anxious worry that gnaws at his stomach, twisting and tying it in knots at night when he’s trying to sleep. He pays off his tab on Nevarro and quickly builds his stock of weaponry, watching when his carbonite bay is installed. He debates testing it on one of the workers just to see that it works beforehand, but he’s got a bounty on hand already and he can stand to be a bit more patient. 

His ship's responsiveness doesn’t dwindle with the added weight, much to Din’s delight, and he actually finds that the engines are just… Stronger. Hardier than his last ones. He doesn’t refer to it as the _Razor Crest_ , despite that being what it is, and he goes months without a name until Cara finally snaps and demands that he either come up with a name or just suck it up. In the effort of laziness Din relents, and the _Razor Crest_ is brought back again. 

He’s stuck at light speed, traveling from Tatooine to Nevarro when a light flares on his holo, just a soft red button that flashes slowly with a new message. Din hits play, hardly paying attention, since Karga is sending them constantly, and jerks in his chair when a soft, firm voice so totally unlike Karga’s plays through the cockpit. 

“Do not share this with anyone.” Luke’s face, half concealed beneath his hood stares sightlessly into the chamber, and Din’s heart pounds in his chest when he begins to rattle off coordinates. He punches them into the computer as fast as he can, listening to Luke repeat them two more times before his recording cuts off and the image of him fades. It’s a planet on the very edges of the universe, far out in a sector Din has never even heard of, and Din is relieved that his bounty is on the way. 

He puts the bounty in carbonite as soon as he can and takes off, following the coordinates and pacing the length of the cockpit all through the suspense within hyperspace. He tries to calm down, to remind himself that he knew this wouldn’t be forever, but when the planet finally comes into view, with vast stretches of water and forest and desert Din’s heart is nearly bursting through his beskar. He slides into his seat to prepare for his landing, and finds that the coordinates are deep in the forest, and he’ll have to land further away. He spots a familiar x-wing, faded red stripes slashed down the side, and carefully lands next to it, snagging the steering chip and trodding down the ramp.

He has no clue where to go, especially once he breaks into the forest, but there's a path worn into the grass, and when he ticks his visor over to another channel Luke’s bootprints flare to life in front of his eyes. He follows them, ignoring when they loop back a few times to ward off other less talented trackers. His trek through the forest is short, and he sweeps the area as he steps out into a clearing that dips into a valley. When Luke had said temple Din hadn’t been expecting…. This. A large, ancient city sprawls across the valley, buildings of dusty brick towering among the trees and overgrown pavement. Din doesn’t have the slightest clue which building they could be in, but it doesn’t seem to matter as something tingles across the back of his neck, an awareness that wasn’t there before.

Din whips around, hand on his blaster, but nothing but wind and trees greets him, and that same cool tingling tugs, insistent. Din finds his feet following the feeling without knowing exactly why, leading him down into the valley and past building after crumbling building. Most of them look unstable, like a stray wind strong enough will knock the whole thing over, but the deeper he goes the more the buildings change from rough hewn stone to something more like the glass and steel that Din is used to seeing among civilization. 

Din breaks out into a square, an old, stagnant fountain in the middle, teeming with frogs and moss and bugs. His attention catches on the small green child sitting on the edge, giggling with delight as a frog floats in front of him, just out of reach. 

“Grogu.” 

Din’s voice breaks saying his name, and he laughs wetly, disbelief plain along the lines of his body as the little one whips around, dark eyes wide with surprise. At the sight of Din’s armor shining in the light he squeals, scurrying to climb down off the edge of the fountain, little legs carrying him as fast as they can toward Din. He drops to his knees, ignoring the way the stone bites at his joints as Grogu crashes into his chest, babbling and cooing and little hands grabbing at the leather straps across his chest. Din laughs, near dizzy with relief, and he lifts Grogu a bit higher, letting Grogu grip the concave edges of his helmet, shaking it lightly, impatiently. 

“Later, Grogu. Not now.” Grogu frowns, little brow furrowing, and Din grins despite himself. “I missed you, kid. Have you been good?”

Grogu croons happily, and he looks back as Din looks up, watching as Luke sits on the edge of the fountain. He’s still draped in black, but the long cloak is gone, and the rest of his clothes are form fitted, hugging his frame, and Din finds that he’s much more delicate than he first expected. There’s an undeniable strength in his posture, a certain poise that Din doesn’t see in many people anymore. His sandy hair is a mess, strands whipping in the wind, but Luke seems unaffected, crossing his legs at the knee. “He missed you too. Quite loudly, I would say.”

“Did he cause trouble?” Luke laughs, a rich, decadent sound, and Din stands, moving closer. 

“No more than any trainee. He’s stubborn, when he wants to be, but he’s learning.” Luke reaches out, tugging on the end of Grogu’s ear affectionately and smiling when he grabs his finger, holding on. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The thought of _not_ showing up, of not seeing that Grogu was fine months later seems so wrong that he never even considered it. 

“There are a thousand things within this universe that no one can change should they get in the way.” Din snorts, rolling his eyes, and Luke grins ruefully, the waxing poetics dropping from him as he leans back to regard Din with a full body sweep of his eyes. “That and you’re a busy man.”

“He’s my priority.” Luke dips his head in a nod, acknowledging the fact, and his eyes flick over Din again, a pale eyebrow arching just so. 

“And what about your throne, _Mand’alor_? Have you made any progress with the darksaber?”

“How do you-”

“Grogu told me. He talks about you. A lot, I might add. And especially about the way you saved him from the saber itself.” Luke doesn’t move, but his head cocks to the side, regarding Din with an expression he doesn’t have the time or energy to pick apart. “You have it still, don’t you?”

Din nods, shifting Grogu in his arms and pulling the saber from his belt. His thumb finds the button easily, and the blade extends with a soft hiss. The blade itself is coal black, a seemingly never ending abyss, but the edges glow with an unearthly white sheen, reflecting in shattered images across the beskar of Din’s armor. The blade unnerves him, makes his skin crawl, so he extinguishes it and tucks it back into his belt as quickly as he can. He expects Luke to say something, some stupid Jedi nonsense, but instead he watches as Luke’s eyelids flutter shut, skin gone pale and body slumping backward. Din swears, lurching forward to catch the front of Luke's shirt to keep him from tipping back into the fountain and drowning.

“Hey, _Jetii-_ ” Luke’s hand comes up, gripping Din’s wrist tight, and Din is once again struck by the urge to pull away and put some distance between him and the other man. The urge fades quickly when he hears the noise that Luke makes, soft and pained, and Din shakes Luke’s hand away. He sets Grogu down on the ground gently before slinging one of Luke’s arms around his shoulders, hauling him to his feet as the Jedi sways unsteadily beside him. “Hey kid, lead us home.”

Grogu makes a soft noise that Din hopes is a yes and begins tottering away, leading them deeper into the city. Luke is still near incoherent against his side, stumbling along and head lolling forward onto his chest, and the sight makes Din’s stomach clench with nerves. They pass through the rest of the city and out along the other side, climbing the hill and disappearing into the forest. He wants to turn back, to insist they actually go to where they’re staying, but occasionally Luke will suddenly lurch to one side, guiding them, and they come across a small cabin tucked away in the woods before too long. There’s a sprawling garden teeming with verdant plants tucked away behind a fence, and when Din ducks inside Grogu runs straight to the toys sprawled by the fireplace. Din deposits Luke unceremoniously in the first chair that he sees, but Luke doesn’t complain, groaning softly and slumping. 

Din doesn't have the faintest clue about what’s going on, but he busies himself with tearing through Luke’s things until he finds what Din surmises to be some kind of herbal drink, standing impatiently in the small kitchen as the water boils. By the time he’s gotten everything situated Luke seems well enough to drink, though Din refuses to hand him a cup of scalding liquid. Luke’s face screws up at the taste, and Din didn’t add anything extra, but the smell alone seems to help, and soon Luke’s hands come up, covering Din’s and blue eyes focusing tiredly on his visor. 

“I can hold it.” Din gives him a hard, disbelieving look and Luke snorts, taking the cup from his hands and proving that he very much can manage on his own now. He sips at the drink slowly, lips twitching at the taste, and leans back in his chair, watching the nervous way Din’s fingers twitch, ready to catch the cup just in case. “I’m fine, _Mand’alor_.”

“That didn’t look like fine, _Jetii_.” Din’s voice is scolding, annoyed, and Luke huffs a small laugh.

“That was an- anomaly.” 

"An anomaly." Din repeats, voice flat and unamused. Luke is supposed to be protecting and training Grogu, and he's just watched an _anomaly_ debilitate a trained Jedi, so he isn't feeling particularly warm when his next words come out demanding. "Explain. Now."

"Lightsabers are attuned to the Force. The Force retains… echoes of memories, good or bad, and the bad ones can be- rough." Din draws in a breath to interrupt, but Luke shoots him a look that makes his mouth pop shut, teeth snapping together faintly. "The darksaber is _old,_ and mostly aligned with the Dark."

"Mostly?"

"There have been good, just rulers who handled the blade. Their influence lingers."

"That doesn't explain your reaction."

"I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of the memories from the blade. It won't happen again, I can promise you that." Din wants to point out that as a supposed Jedi Master he _should_ have been ready, but Luke's cheeks are pink with embarrassment already and twisting the blade needlessly would just be cruel. 

"You're expecting me to take the blade out again?"

"Someone has to train you in its use."

"I don't need you to-"

"How many other lightsaber users do you know, _Mand'alor_?" When Din says nothing Luke nods his head, draining the rest of his drink and standing to take care of the cup. "We'll begin in the morning, after breakfast."

"I didn't agree to anything, _Jetii._ " 

"But you will. The bedroom on the left is yours. I'm just down the hall if you need anything." Din watches him walk away, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and he turns to Grogu, frowning. Grogu looks up, sensing Din's attention, and he toddles over, stepping on Din's foot and raising his arms high. Din leans down, scooping him up and standing.

"Guess that means we better get some sleep, huh?" 

Din carries the kid with him as he heads into the empty bedroom, glancing around. It's pretty barren, as far as bedrooms go, but there's a bed, a dresser and a small crib for Grogu tucked near the bed. If Din hadn't been invited, he would have thought that Luke could see into the future. Well, he's not entirely sure he _can't_ do that as a powerful Jedi. Din sets Grogu down on the bed, knowing he'll just crawl out of the crib right now, and reaches for the clasps of his armor. He's- not entirely sure he wants to take it off, since he hardly knows the man sleeping across the house, but Grogu trusts him and that speaks volumes for his character. Grogu, while a child, distrusts almost as badly as Din does, and the fact that he's not constantly watching Luke is a testament to his comfort. Grogu reaches up toward him, brown eyes big as saucers, and Din sighs, stripping out of his armor but keeping the bodysuit on. It's the best compromise he can manage right now, and he hesitates for a second before deciding that he's already taken it off around the kid, he might as well be somewhat comfortable. 

The room is dim enough that he can open his eyes right away, and when he lays back the kid ambles up, patting his nose and pulling a handful of his hair. Din allows his exploration, watching the way that Grogu's face lights up when Din tries to smile at him. He laughs quietly when Grogu settles down next to him, tucking his little head against Din's neck and pressing his back along the length of Din's shoulder. He should put him in the crib, it's there for a reason, but he missed him more than he cares to admit to himself and so what if he falls asleep, his child curled up in the crook of his neck, snoring away?

-*-

Din is woken up by the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to grab for his blaster, the second his helmet, but Luke's voice stops him in his tracks.

"You could have woken him up, you know. Or opened the door by yourself." There's a brief pause, and though Din can see Luke's hand on the knob he can't see any other part of him. "No, that's not a frivolous use of your powers, that's _practice._ No, I'm not going into his room. Wh- _Grogu_ -!" 

Din can't help himself- he laughs at the shocked, appalled squeak that Luke lets out, slipping his helmet onto his head and letting it seal tight. "You can stop hiding."

"You're decent?"

"You'll have to find out." He hears Luke chuckle, a soft sound that zips up his spine, and Din resolutely ignores the feeling in lieu of shrugging back into his armor. He's securing a pauldron when Luke finally slips into the room, gaze carefully averted, and Din shivers when something races up his spine, pooling around his neck and going not further than his helmet. The feeling fades quickly, and only then does Luke look up, grinning as usual. 

"Did you sleep alright?" Din snorts, tugging the strap across his chest tighter and lifting a leg one at a time to secure the plates on his thighs. 

"Fine. Not going to pass out again?" Luke groans at the mention, as if he'll never live it down, and Din smirks behind the safety of his helmet. 

"I told you it wouldn't happen again. Test me if you want." Luke folds his hands in front of him, meeting Din's eyes through the helmet and waiting patiently. Din tilts his head, debating, but the saber stays tucked away in his belt as he slips past Luke, pauldron brushing against his arm. He hears Luke mumble something to himself before turning on his heel to follow them out, and Din jerks forward, catching the knife that's floating in the air and dragging it down despite the way whatever holds it up fights him.

"Hey kid, easy on the knives." The strain stops suddenly, and Din goes to shove it back into the small block, turning to pin Grogu with a look. His child merely coos, tilting his head until a large ear brushes the floor, and Din sighs heavily. "You don't practice with dangerous objects, that's how you lose an eye."

Grogu gurgles, obviously unhappy with the scolding, but Din stands his ground, crossing his arms. "I've seen you lift a mudhorn, I'm sure your toys aren't a problem."

"Do you hear him?" Luke's voice breaks their staring contest, and Din glances up, tracking Luke's movements through the small kitchen as he begins to pull things out. All of it seems plant based, but that doesn't bother Din much, and if Luke isn't a hunter then he shouldn't expect much in the way of meat. If this planet even _has_ wildlife to hunt. 

"Hear what? The noises?"

Luke stops for a moment, a faint, calculating look on his face. "You were answering him." 

"I was just- talking to him." Luke hums low in his throat, resuming his work at making breakfast and occasionally catching fruits or ingredients out of the air. It seems a common enough occurrence between the two of them, and Din sits back to watch just what Luke will allow. Occasionally a slice of something will float over to Grogu, which Luke either does or allows, and sometimes Luke will laugh or shake his head, shooting Grogu a look that Din doesn't understand. 

Din slips the saber from his belt while Luke is occupied washing something, and his thumb hits the release, angling it so it doesn’t take out the leg of the table or screech over his beskar. Luke’s whole body shudders, shoulders twitching madly, and Din watches, breathless, as Luke turns slowly, blue eyes bright with anger and lips pressed together.

“ _That_ was uncalled for, _Mand’alor_.” Din flicks the saber off again, lifting his shoulders in a shrug and trying not to sound too smug.

“You said to test you.”

“Twenty minutes ago, maybe.”

“Test is useless if you’re expecting it. The outcome changes.” Luke opens his mouth to say something, frowning, but Din lets the blade sing to life again and Luke chokes on his breath. His reaction is lessened, just a tensing of his shoulders and shake of his head, and this time when Din extinguishes the blade he tucks it away. “See?”

“Yes, I do.” Luke’s tone makes something burrow its way into his heart, and he isn’t sure he likes the feeling. Luke stalks over to the table, setting a plate down in front of Din and and one in front of the chair next to him. “Eat, then meet me outside.”

Din isn’t going to eat, not with Luke nearby, but Luke carries his own plate outside, disappearing into the yard and leaving Din more confused than he was before. He waits for Luke to come back in, for the door to open or a head of blonde hair to move past the window but he doesn’t, and Din feels stupid sitting there while Grogu digs into his breakfast. He pops the seal on his helmet, sliding it up just enough to take a bite before slipping it back down. 

Luke is not a good cook.

Din has had worse though, and he tucks it away dutifully, knowing he’s going to need the energy for whatever the Jedi has planned for him. Once he’s managed to get his breakfast down and cleaned Grogu’s hands off he secures his helmet and ducks outside, sweeping the area and finding Luke at the treeline, sitting cross legged with his eyes shut. Meditating. Din stops a few feet shy of him, watching the slow, even way that Luke’s chest rises and falls with his breath. He finds himself following along, dragging in deep, slow breaths, holding it, and then letting it out slowly. The longer he stands there, breathing in tandem with Luke the more a sense of calm crawls into his bones, settling him and making his muscles feel loose and slippery. 

“Breathing was the first thing my master taught me, and it’s the first thing I hope to offer you.” Luke gestures toward the ground next to him and Din takes it without hesitation, tucking himself down onto the ground with far more grace than his armor should allow. Grogu squirms out of his arms, moving to sit in front of them rather, little hands clasped together in his lap as he closes his eyes. Din glances between the two of them as Luke’s eyes close again, and while Din follows their breathing, relaxing, though he doesn’t close his eyes. Instead he watches the serenity that passes over his child’s face, the way his ears droop down a bit as his tiny breathing evens out. “Close your eyes, _Mand’alor_.”

Din squeezes his eyes shut at the command, tensing, but Luke hums approvingly and Din relaxes again. Or tries to, but he’s focusing too much on the slow, even inhale of Luke’s breath and the way power oozes from him in every exhale, shivering in the air around them and sticking to him like a cloak. It’s… Distracting, to say the least, and by the time Luke finally rises to his feet Din is wound up all over again. Luke leads Grogu a safe distance away from them, Grogu sitting down obediently and staring at them with those dark, bottomless eyes. 

“We’re a little close to the building.” Luke raises a brow, lips twitching in a smile, and he draws the lightsaber from his belt. It whirs to life with a quiet hum, green blade lighting up Luke’s robes in swathes of muted color. Din’s hand strays for his blaster automatically, but Luke shakes his head sharply and Din grits his teeth. 

“Draw, _Mand’alor._ ” 

“I told you we’re-” Din leaps back as Luke lunges, lightsaber screeching along the front of his chestpiece. 

Their first lesson begins that way, Din uselessly dodging and ducking to avoid Luke’s sword and Luke coming at him with singular focus. Din’s arms burn from blocking the impact of Luke’s swings, and he shoves forward with his forearms, pushing Luke back. Luke doesn’t let him breathe or rest, left hand reaching out and fingers closing in a tight fist. A sickening feeling of being touched yet not touched wraps around him, cold and imposing, and Din’s feet skid through the dirt as Luke drags him forward. 

“Draw your _saber.”_ Luke’s voice is a near growl now, and as the grip around him loosens Din wrenches the hilt free from his belt, the starlit blade roaring to life in Din’s hands. Luke’s face twitches uncomfortably, but Din’s heart is pounding in his ears and he slashes forward, as if wielding a club or a spare piece of pipe meant to bludgeon. Luke bats the strike away like he would an infant’s swing, and Din’s blade rises to block Luke’s this time instead of letting the blade scorch across his armor again. “Good! You aren’t using a stick, it’s a sword, treat it like one!”

“A sword _is_ a stick!” Din shouts back, ducking under a blow and swinging upward. Luke ward's off his attacks with little difficulty, and as Din continues his attacks he finds that the saber feels more like an extension of himself than before. Much like his staff, he only needs to lean into the natural weight of the weapon and efficiency of his training, strikes evening out and blade singing in his hand. Din drops to the ground in a tight crouch, drawing himself in before his blade spears out, the tip sailing for Luke as Luke's blade hisses along the length of Din's, unable to parry. His blade connects with Luke’s thigh in a shower of stars, Luke staggering backward with a cry. Din straightens up immediately, eyes widening, but Luke’s leg is whole and undamaged, Luke rubbing at it for a moment before he looks back up at Din. 

“Force shield. Knew you’d land a blow eventually, when you decided to participate.” 

Din is storming forward before he can stop himself, fist twisting in Luke’s clothes and hauling him closer. Luke raises his hands, fingers splaying wide in supplication, and Din feels his breaths scraping out of his throat, fast and raw. “You _tell_ me, _Jetii_ , before we do this again. You-” Din can feel his hands shaking, and he can feel his anger pulsing against his forehead and up into his hair, hot and buzzing. Luke’s eyes are wide, impossibly blue and Din’s stomach flops and it’s too much, too soon, and his hand drops as he takes a couple of steps back. “I- have to go.”

“Where?” Luke doesn’t try to dissuade him, instead straightening his clothes and tucking his lightsaber away. 

“I have a bounty to finish.”

“Okay.” Luke’s tone is too accepting, too soft, and Din doesn’t have anywhere for his rage, as misplaced as it is, to go. “We’ll resume your training when you come back.”

-*-

Din is only two days late getting back to Nevarro to drop off the bounty and the puck, and when he steps into the building that Karga has set up as his base there’s a metallic laugh that sounds to his left. 

“Told you you didn’t need me.” 

Karga looks visibly relieved at the sight of Din standing in his office, and Din’s head tips to the side at the sight of Boba sprawled in the chair by the desk. Din tosses the puck onto the table, bobbing his head in a nod. “Fought pretty hard.” 

“Is he dead?”

“Sleeping in carbonite.” Karga nods, snapping his fingers toward a man lingering at the back of the room. He scurries out, probably to go collect the bounty, and Din swipes the money off the table that Karga offers. Din’s attention turns to his armored friend now, and he finds Boba watching him already, head tipped to the side inquisitively. “Fett.”

“ _Mand’alor.”_ Din scoffs- as if Luke insisting on the title while they were alone wasn’t bad enough. “Karga here was about to send a search party.”

“You’re hardly a _search party_ , Boba Fett.” Karga splutters, denying it, but Din huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What do you have?”

“A couple of escaped convicts, a debt skipper. Interested?” Din nods, accepting the pucks and corresponding trackers. They're scattered across the system, will take a couple of weeks at least, and Din is grateful for the distraction once again. He knows, has seen that Grogu is safe and dare he say happy, so he can stop being so worried all the time, right? 

Din restocks at the market before retreating back to his ship, coming up short when he sees Boba, head tilted back as he admires the ship. "I never got to see the other one."

"They're the same." Is all Din says, slipping past him and up the ramp. He's got supplies to put away, paths to track, and no time for Boba Fett and his musing. Boba's musing though, seems to have all the time in the world for him, and he sits atop a crate, watching the way that Din organizes and reorganizes the same shelf. 

"Hey, leave it."

"I'm-"

"Fidgeting. Get your metal ass over here, I brought you something." Din turns slowly, wary of anything that Boba might have brought him, but he's holding up a metal container that's warm to the touch, even through the leather of Din's gloves. When Din cracks the lid steam temporarily fogs his visor, and Din stares down at the food contained within. Chunks of meat and veggies soak in a sauce that even with his helmet on Din can tell is nuclear red. "You don't have to eat now. It should stay warm a while."

Din looks up at Boba, as if debating, and reaches back to unlock his helmet, slipping it up over his head and tossing it onto his cot without looking. Boba dips his head down for a second, face turned away, but Din grunts and moves to sit next to him. "Thanks."

Boba is much nicer to his helmet, merely setting it down beside him, but Din is already digging in, devouring the meal before him. It's been ages since he's had anything truly flavorful, something that makes his nose run and brings tears to his eyes, and he savors the white-hot burn that coats his tongue. It's the best thing Din has eaten in weeks, and he scrapes the dish as clean as he can just to ensure he doesn't miss anything. Boba seems just as enthusiastic about the meal, though he passes off what's left of his to Din once he's had his fill, and watches as Din polishes that off too.

" _Me'vaar ti gar?_ " Boba's mando'a is different than his, rougher, and it takes Din a second to realize what he's done. 

"Ass." He scowls, discarding the containers before leaning back against the sloped wall of the _Crest_ and answering. "The _Jetii_ sent me encrypted coordinates so I could see the kid."

"So you went, obviously. But why come back?" Din hesitates, glancing at Boba, and he's both relieved and strangely disappointed that Boba doesn't seem to be staring. Din thinks on it a moment, what he wants to reveal, and decides the truth, all of it, would be best. 

So he tells Boba- every detail he can remember aside from the planet's location and anything that might give it away to a more well versed traveller. He recounts the stupid, weak way relief has made his legs wobble when he'd seen Grogu again for the first time, the joy at seeing his son again, and eventually the conversation turns to Luke. His kindness, the contented way he laughs and smiles as if the entire world hasn't done him wrong already, the obvious care he harbors for the child in his care. The stupid smug way he smiles, the odd way that Din feels whenever he stares too long. How, in the day and a half he was there, Luke had driven him up the wall but also seen him in a way that most others didn't, like he could read him from across the room. He tells him about their first fight with the sword, and Din can feel his hands begin to shake as the anger bubbles to the surface. He doesn't have a way to explain _why_ he's so angry, just that he is, but Boba is frowning.

" _Jetii_ have always been secretive. It's not in their nature to share information."

“I could have killed him.” Boba snorts, picking his helmet up and turning it over in his hands. 

“He wouldn’t put himself at that much risk.” That… Is a good point, one that Din hadn’t thought about outside of fighting. No one he’s ever fought with, sparring or otherwise, has ever fought like they weren’t trying to kill each other. All of Din’s anger seems to slough off of him, and his shoulders slump, pauldrons weighing heavily against him. “When are you going back?”

“What makes you think I’m going back?” Boba pins him with a look, eyebrow raised, and Din looks away, tips of his ears burning. He feels far too exposed without his helmet, but it feels more like a relief to be able to breathe, to let his eyes sting with the brightness of the lights inside the ship. 

“You don’t run. Not once you have a plan.” 

The fact that Boba is right is irritating, and Din’s brow furrows as he thinks. The longer he sits there, debating himself, the more and more he realizes that he _does_ have a plan. It’s stupidly simple, hardly even worth being called more than a thought, but it’s all that Din has, so it’ll have to be enough. Boba knocks his elbow into Din, shoving, and Din focuses back on the bounty hunter.

“Give me the pucks.”

“You’re not stealing my bounties, Fett.” Boba scoffs, rolling his eyes and holding his hand out.

“We’ll split it. Now get yourself ready.” Din stares him down, eyes narrowed, but Boba doesn’t relent until Din presses the pucks and trackers into his hands. Din rises to his feet at Boba’s insistence, grabbing his helmet from his cot and slipping it back on over his head. The fit is snug as always, and Din adjusts to the weight of it easily, climbing up into the cockpit to power the engines up in preparation for him to leave. The coordinates are still in his computer, primed and ready, and Din isn’t sure whether it’s the thought of flying or Grogu that makes his fingers itch to grab the yoke and take off. Din’s comm crackles in his helmet, making him wince, and Boba’s voice rumbles into the tiny space. “Get going, Mando.”

-*-

Din feels like an ass walking back up to Luke’s small cottage. Like an ass, and a coward.

He shouldn’t have left Grogu, left Luke the way that he did. He didn’t have any real reason to be mad and shame burns across the back of his neck when he stands just outside the door, debating on whether or not to knock. He's got a pack over his shoulder, more to prove that he's here to stay than anything else when the door swings open wide, knocking against the wall. Grogu's little form stands just out of the way of the door, hands raised, and Din smiles despite himself.

"Hey kid." Grogu giggles, hurrying over to his father and squeaking happily as Din sweeps him up into his arms. Grogu doesn't go for his helmet this time, instead jostling his chest piece with little hands. "Okay okay, cool it. I'm staying, alright?"

"Uh?" The child jostles his chest piece again and Din sighs, stepping inside and wincing when the door slams shut behind him. At least Grogu is practicing. 

"No, we're not going to get frogs, I know you just ate." There's absolutely no way he can tell other than the plates on the counter, but Grogu's pout only confirms what Din suspected and he tugs lightly on Grogu's ear. "Can't con a con man, kid. Where's your master?"

There's a sound from across the room and Din looks up as Luke leans against the doorframe, hair a mess and brow raised. "Yeah okay, you don't like that, but I don't like _Mand'alor_." Luke's brows go up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and Din isn't quite sure what the look is for. "My name is Din. Din Djarin. If you're going to call me anything, it better be that."

"No _Mand'alor?_ " Din wrinkles his nose, though Luke can't see, and is rewarded by Luke laughing, grinning crookedly and finally shoving off the doorframe to walk closer. "No _Jetii_ then either, Din Djarin."

"Just Din."

"Just Din." Luke agrees, amusement coloring his words. "You said you were staying?"

"If you'll have me." Din… probably should have asked first before assuming, but Luke reaches out, gripping his bicep in a friendly embrace and drawing a bit closer. 

"He's your home as much as he is mine." Din glances down at Grogu, who's begun dozing in his arms, and then back up at Luke. The hand clasped around his arm sears through the layers of his bodysuit, but Din craves the warmth from it. 

"I'm cooking." Din blurts out before he can help himself, Luke grinning in response. 

"Grogu likes my cooking."

"Grogu eats _frogs_." 

"He has refined taste." Din snorts, trying to hold back a laugh, and Luke squeezes his bicep lightly before finally dropping his hand. "Are you tired?"

"No." He's not sure why the question, but Luke's eyebrows twitch up for a moment before a sly smile overtakes his face. He regrets saying no.

"Meet me outside in five minutes." Luke sweeps past him without further preamble, leaving Din to do as he's told, tucking Grogu away in his crib and making sure he doesn't wake when Din slips out of the bedroom. He leaves his pack on the bed along with his jetpack, wanting to shed as much excess weight as he can. He has a feeling he's going to need as much agility as he can get. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to take off his armor and risk getting cut to pieces by Luke’s lightsaber though. Because that’s exactly what Din is expecting when he gets outside, watching the way that Luke lazily rotates his wrist, letting the blade whirl through with the movement. Something warm heats in his stomach at the sight, and he draws his own saber, letting the blade flicker to life. Luke’s eyes flick up as the blade hums in Din’s hand, eyes tracing over the blade itself and then up and down Din once. 

“You didn’t react.”

“The blade is used to you now, and reflects more upon your feelings than the memories within.” Din shifts on his feet, uncomfortable at the thought, and Luke waves him over, further away from the building. “I haven’t been forthcoming about certain aspects of my abilities, and it upset you.”

“It didn’t…” But Din can’t finish the sentence, and Luke’s face droops in something sad. 

“When we fight I’ll have a shield up, like the one you saw before. It’ll keep me from being injured by your saber, like your beskar does for mine.”

“The blows will still hurt.” Din’s arms had ached for a day after their first clash, but Luke shrugs, smirking now.

“That’s part of the training. No fun if there aren’t bruises.” Luke reminds him so much of his trainers as a child then that he can almost imagine Luke in beskar, wielding a quarterstaff and laughing when a blow knocked him on his ass. “Ready?”

Din snaps from his reverie, and their training begins anew. Luke drives him hard, using whatever tricks and skills he has at his disposal, but Din matches him beat for beat. While his skill with a sword is subpar compared to Luke he catches on quickly, and he’s battle honed in a way that makes reading Luke’s next moves as easy as breathing. 

More often than not he finds himself sprawled in the dirt or thrown off into the trees, head spinning at the impact and every muscle in his body protesting at getting back up again. He never stays down for long, Luke extending a hand to help him up as many times as he knocks him down. Half the time that hand is used to yank Luke off balance and launch a counter attack, but Luke expects it, rolling in the dirt with Din and swinging madly until the invisible fingers of Luke’s power catches at the back of Din’s armor and sends him flying again. 

While Grogu and Luke train in the living room, lifting toys and chairs and practicing breathing, Din hunts. There’s plenty of wildlife to track, and plenty of meat to cure and use in cooking. Cooking with actual spices and flavor, which Luke insists is too much half the time, and not enough the other half. Din knows he’s complaining just to get a rise out of him, but it works every time, and Din watches, satisfied one night as Luke chokes, cheeks flushing and eyes watering. Din grins beneath his helmet, laughing when Luke glares at him and gulps down a mouthful of water to try and wash away the taste. Luke still complains, but after that he’s much more careful about just how red the food is that particular day.

Din is also the one to go on supply runs when they get low on the things Luke can’t grow in his garden or Din can’t hunt, and he takes a few bounties while he’s out, just to tide him over while he’s away. Luke tells him to take care of how he uses the darksaber, but Din hasn’t had the heart to tell him he doesn’t use it at all outside of their training. Most people don’t look too kindly on their bounty run through by a sword and encased in carbonite. The darksaber still unnerves him, for as much as he uses it at home- at Luke’s. 

Din has been away from home for two weeks too long when he finally makes it back, nursing a couple broken ribs and his own wounded pride. His last bounty had been a better fighter than he’d expected, and had gotten a good shoulder ram in the space right under Din’s left arm. It makes carrying the supplies he’d brought back a pain in the ass, and he drops them in the doorway, rolling his shoulders back to try and ease the tension pulling at his ribs. Luke’s blonde hair pops out of the back room, a smile on his face, and Din’s heart kicks up a notch. It had been doing that a lot lately, and Din isn’t stupid enough to ignore what it means. He just… Doesn’t act on it. 

“You’re home late.” Luke eyes the sky through the open door behind Din, already illuminated by the planet’s three moons.

“Your tea is impossible to find.” 

“Sure, blame it on me, like you weren’t out joyriding.” Din scoffs, but he’s partially right and Din’s silence only confirms it. Luke’s footsteps are quiet as he pads across the living room, and above that he can hear Grogu, snoring away. He’s much, much later than he expected to be, so he keeps his voice hushed to avoid waking Grogu in the room next door. “Did you have fun?”

“Mhmm.” The door closes with a soft click behind him, and Luke joins him in hauling the supplies to the kitchen, where Luke unpacks and tucks them away under Din’s careful eye. Luke knows by now where everything goes, and he makes quick work, leaving his tea out. Din has already put water on to heat, and he rolls his shoulders out again, pain lancing down his side. He hadn’t bothered to waste the money on a bacta patch- Grogu and Luke were just as good at healing, if not better, and Din is already beginning to heal on his own anyway. 

“You’re hurt.” Luke’s voice is accusing, and Din turns, biting back a yelp when Luke’s hands come up, pressing into his sides. He shies away from Luke’s right hand, trying to lessen the pressure, and Luke frowns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s nothing.”

“They’re pretty broken, Din.” Din laughs, wincing when that proves to be a mistake, and Luke’s fingers go for the latches of his armor. Din takes a step back, shaking his head, and Luke frowns again. “Let me help. Please?”

“I can undress myself.” Is all Din says, working in quick, efficient movement to shed the pieces of his beskar. Once he’s left in his bodysuit Luke looks to him for permission, Din nodding once and letting Luke get close again as his hands stray over Din’s chest. Din makes a noise, as if to tell him that’s not where it hurts, but Luke shushes him softly, eye slipping closed in concentration as his hand hovers over Din’s left side. Din chokes on a cry of pain when Luke presses his hand down, Din’s ribs shifting, snapping neatly back into place. Luke holds onto Din, keeping him steady as he pants, head spinning with the pain. “You could have warned me.”

“That changes the outcome.” Luke’s eyes open, glancing up at him, and Din finds himself leaning forward for no reason at all. Din’s forehead bumps against Luke’s, just the barest pressure, but Luke smiles, leaning up to press into the embrace harder and laughing when Din’s hand comes up to cup the back of his neck. “Though sometimes it doesn’t”

“Luke?” Din feels the echo of Luke’s curiosity more than he hears what Luke says, and his lips quirk inside his helmet. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Oh, we’re having a moment?” Din pulls back with a groan, muttering under his breath, but Luke chuckles softly, left hand coming up to catch the cheek of Din’s helmet. His thumb smoothes over the ridge of Din’s metal cheekbone, and he goes up on his tiptoes to press their foreheads together again. “I didn’t understand how this could be a substitute at first.”

“What?” Din’s head is foggy with having Luke so close, and his eyes close behind his visor. He doesn't need his sight at the moment anyway, not to stare down the slope of Luke’s nose. 

“This is your form of a kiss, right? Since you don’t take your helmet off.” Din hums in affirmation and Luke continues, leaning his whole body forward. Din hisses faintly at the soreness still lingering in his side, but Luke’s hand smoothes over him, sweeping it away with another gentle pules of what he insists isn’t magic. “It never seemed like it would be enough, but… It’s nice, being close to you like this.”

Din finds himself smiling then, chest tight and overflowing, and he pulls back, opening his eyes. Luke follows him, not wanting to be separated, but Din places a hand on his chest. “Luke.”

“Hmm?”

“Close your eyes.” Luke’s eyes slip shut immediately, and Din takes a step back. Luke seems to mourn the loss of his warmth, but Din is about to do something wildly stupid and he wants to go quickly before he loses his nerve. “Keep them closed.” 

Luke hums, reassuring Din that he will, and Din allows his helmet to unseal, sliding it up and off his head. He sets it down with the rest of his discarded armor as gently as he can, but Luke’s breath hitches at the noise, and Din can feel the unspoken question that radiates from him. He doesn’t answer, not right away, slipping his gloves off so he can feel the silky strands of Luke’s hair when he cups the back of his head. Luke draws in a shuddering breath at the touch, eyelids fluttering, and before Din can talk himself out of it he places the softest kiss he can against Luke’s lips. Luke’s whole body is a razor wire against his as Din draws the other man closer, kissing him with firm, even pressure. Luke’s thoughts pound through him in time with his racing heart, flooding his brain as Luke’s lips move against his, parting and tongue flicking out to trace the seam of Din’s lips. _DinDinDinDinDinDin- wanna touch-_

Din can hardly tell what thoughts are his and what thoughts are Luke’s, and he drops both his hands to where Luke has grabbed onto the front of his suit. He tugs lightly, Luke releasing his hold and fingers curling around Din’s. Din hums, bringing Luke’s hands up and bumping his knuckles against his cheeks. Luke lets go of Din’s hands immediately in lieu of cupping his cheeks, and Din gasps against his lips, skin blazing with each touch of Luke’s shaking fingers. He traces over his cheeks, down along his jaw, and one hand slips into the flat mess of his hair, dragging through the strands and eventually grabbing a fistful at the back of his head. 

It’s- overwhelming, to be honest. Luke is hot and insistent against him, pressing forward, crowding into his space, and Din really feels like he’ll drown in it. Din’s hands wander, lingering on Luke’s waist before he makes a decision. Luke is all wiry muscle, but Din doesn’t have any trouble hoisting him up, sitting him on the counter and listening as his armor goes skidding to the other side, a smaller piece, either a pauldron or thigh plate tumbling off. Din doesn’t care, not when Luke’s thighs press around him and his hand is in his hair. Din delights in the way that Luke shudders when he laps at the roof of his mouth, teasing over the sensitive area and humming at the taste of him. Luke’s fingers twitch uselessly in his hair, tugging at the handful he’s slowly tangling. Din pulls away reluctantly, panting and neck bowing as he leans back into Luke’s hand, chasing the sensation. 

Luke presses their foreheads together, skin to skin now, and seems just as affected as Din, breathing ragged and fingers trembling when he reaches up to trace over Din’s cheek again. Luke’s other hand combs through Din’s hair, occasionally snagging on a tangle, and Din twitches every time, fingers clenching against Luke’s sides. “We _are_ having a moment.”

Din huffs out something between a laugh and a moan when Luke tugs particularly hard at a nasty tangle, whole body shuddering against Luke’s. Din peeks his eyes open, expecting Luke to be staring at him, trying to sneak some kind of glance, but his eyes are firmly shut, lips red and a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. “Ruined it.”

Luke laughs, bumping their noses together and sighing out a soft breath. “Where’s your helmet? As much as I could kiss you all night, we _do_ need sleep.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Din-”

“I’ve been thinking about it. No living being other than one in my clan should see my face. Grogu, he’s-”

“One of your clan.” Din nods, glancing over at the metal reflection of his helmet before looking back toward Luke. 

“But you are too.” Din admits quietly, idly bunching the fabric of Luke’s shirt in his hands. Anxiety spikes in his gut, twisting it, but Luke smiles, radiant and happy, knocking their foreheads together again. 

“Do you _want_ me to?” Din nods, a slow and hesitant dip of his head, and Luke hums, tipping his chin and slotting their lips together in a soft kiss. By the time that Luke pulls back Din’s head is pleasantly fuzzy, and when he opens his eyes and sees Luke looking back he doesn’t cringe or shove him back. His heart leaps in his chest, but Luke’s eyes are soft, adoring and so much _bluer_ without the visor dulling the color. “They’re brown.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes.” Din raises a brow, as if that really should have been a given, but Luke rolls his eyes, leaning back a bit and crossing his ankles behind Din’s legs. “I didn’t even know if you _had_ eyes.”

“I don’t. You’re hallucinating.” Din deapans, trying to keep his lips from twitching up into the smile he’s fighting off. Luke only shrugs, nodding as if it makes sense. 

“I’ll take hallucination Din. He’s yummy.” Din wrinkles his nose, scowling, and Luke laughs, leaning forward to kiss the wrinkles away just because he can. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Ad'ika: Little one, a term of endearment  
> Jetii: Jedi  
> Mand'alor: The one true ruler, ruler of Mandalore  
> me'vaar ti gar?: How are you? When a mando asks this they expect an honest answer  
> Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad: Adoption rights- literally "I know your name as my child"


End file.
